


and your knee socks.

by katarama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aromantic, Character Publicly Outed Against Their Will, F/F, Open Relationships, Polyamory Negotiations, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6509737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison Argent is a halfback playing for Seattle Reign, and despite having her professional life on track, preparing to represent the United States on the National Women's Soccer Team, that's the only place in her life she feels really satisfied.  There's pressure from her family, especially her mother, to always be Perfect, and she's been burying the things she wants to try to get there.  She might or might not be in love with her roommate and her teammate Kira, and Allison doesn't even want to touch what's going on with Cora Hale.  When they all head to Canada for the Women's World Cup, Allison's finally forced to make an important choice, and to learn something important: that maybe, if she's brave, she can have everything she wants, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and your knee socks.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a fic for the TW Femslash Big Bang, but due to low participation, it didn't go forward to art claims, so I'm just gonna go ahead and post it. Enjoy!
> 
> WARNINGS: Mentions of semi-public sex and a character being publicly outed without their consent. Also, I did not put this in the tags, because it's fairly subtle, and there's only one very brief scene where it is overt, but warnings for emotional abuse of Allison by her parents.

Allison runs.  

Her heart pounds with every stride, every thump of her cleats hitting the turf beneath them.  The dull ache in her knee is almost reassuring, better than the sharp pain she’s not long recovered from.  It will become something more throbbing once the game is done, but it doesn’t bother her now, her whole body awash with adrenaline, with the rush of catching the ball at her feet.  

Her hair is plastered to her face by her sweat, but she doesn’t notice as she runs, taking advantage of the opening to the right down the sidelines.   _To the outside, then back in_ , her mother always used to drill into her head, when she was four years old and joining her first team.   _The outside’s always open_.  

It’s not always true, especially now that she’s in the pros, but she still hears the words in her head as she sprints, quick taps to keep the ball just in front of her as she breaks away down the field.  She’s fast; not the fastest on the team, but the defender she can see out of the corner of her eye stands no chance at catching her.

She glances towards the center, looking to cut back in towards the goal.  The area in front of her is all clear, but dribbling into the corner isn’t going to do her any good.  There’s a flash of dark hair, the whip of a braided pigtail, a royal blue jersey, and Allison checks again.  She hears a clear, “Allison,” and she makes a split second decision, crossing the ball with the insole of her foot.

Allison trails, just in case she’s needed, but she knows her forward, and she knows this goalie.  Kira doesn’t need it, not now, when they’re down to the wire.  Kira breaks for the goal line, lines up a shot, and sinks the ball in the back of the net, just outside the goalie’s reach.

The smile on Kira’s face is infectious, and Allison beams back.  They can’t celebrate too much yet; the two teams are only now tied, and there are ten minutes left in the game.  But Allison lags just a bit behind while they’re jogging back to starting position, just so she can slip Kira a small high five and another smile.

Allison settles back into her position, waits for the whistle and a pass, and is off running again.

* * *

 

“Remember,” Marin says to the group of them clustered in her office.  “It’s important to represent America, but when you come back, you’ll be expected to be at your normal performance level for your team.”

It isn’t a new speech for Allison.  She got the same one only a few years before, when she was going for her first World Cup, nervous and a little bit sick and intent on Marin’s words.  She’d played in the French leagues, and some international friendlies, but making her big time debut in a World Cup on the field as a starter was intimidating, even for Allison.

Now, it’s other players’ turns to be fidgety and nervous.  Allison has another four years of professional soccer under her belt, an Olympic games and some more experience dealing with pressure and scrutiny and stress.  It’s something she never really had to deal with to that degree when she was just playing in the United States league.  Pressure, sure; there’s nothing more intense than a big game and restless stress, for Allison.  But the sad truth about women’s soccer is that they play their home games on a high school football field with turf and the lines painted over, and that is representative of the kind of audiences they draw at their games.  No one cares unless there’s scandal or they’re winning major international games.

Allison zones in and out, but she’s at least trying to pay attention and respect Marin as a coach.  It’s more than she can say about Cora Hale; she’s respectful during games and practices, but right now, she’s dragging her cleats against the floor, obviously bored.  Cora is getting almost as many sideways glances as Allison is from Marin when Marin reminds them that their conduct will be under stricter scrutiny.  Cora resolutely ignores it, although Allison knows her own cheeks are probably pretty pink.

The only person that seems visibly attentive and even more visibly nervous is Kira.  Allison would be, too, if she were in Kira’s shoes.  Cora’s mentioned more than once that she honestly doesn’t even know why Kira is there; while Kira’s going to be competing in the World Cup, Marin keeps dropping mentions of ‘representing America’ that make everyone else roll their eyes and make Kira squirm uncomfortably.

Marin isn’t one for long, encouraging speeches, at least.  She’s always been a more reserved coach, which Allison appreciates, especially when she’s standing there, still in her uniform after the game, waiting to hit the showers.  They manage to get back to the locker room after Marin’s list of typical but nonetheless cryptic platitudes, but before Allison has time to start getting uncomfortable with how much she can feel the sweat drying on her skin.  

The locker room has emptied out by the time Allison spins the lock to her combination and grabs her bag out.  She pulls out her spray deodorant to coat herself in when she hears a thump and sees Kira slumping down on the bench next to her.

“You okay?” Allison asks, turning her body so Kira won’t get deodorant to the face when she sprays.  It means she isn’t looking Kira in the face, but she doesn’t really need to.  Kira’s never been good with hiding her emotions from her voice, which is one of the main reasons everyone on the team does their best to make sure Kira doesn’t talk to the press alone.

“I’m fine,” Kira says immediately, her voice high and wavering.  “I mean, just.  Wondering if I made the right call.  Deciding to register with Japan instead of the U.S.”

“You were eligible to,” Allison points out.  She lifts her shirt up off her head, almost sighing in relief at the slight breeze in the locker room blowing at the sweat sticking her pink sports bra to her skin.  She weighs the can of deodorant in her hand, trying to deciding whether she wants to take the extra time to shower there and wash some of the sweat off or whether she’ll take a hot bath at home and let her knees soak.  “Do you mind if I smell on the ride home?” she asks, and Kira snorts.

“I’m showering at home, too, but I’ll make it quick to save the hot water for you,” Kira says.  She goes to untie her cleats, and Allison takes that as all the approval she needs to spray her underarms.

“I don’t think you made the wrong call,” she tells Kira when the deodorant’s capped up again and she can turn to look Kira in the eyes.  “If you don’t think you made the wrong call, you didn’t make the wrong call.”

“I’m not sure anymore, the closer it gets,” Kira admits.  Her left braid is coming loose, and Allison resists the urge to reach over and fix it for her.  “I didn’t expect to get called up to actually play so soon.  I did it because of my mom, but I didn’t even grow up speaking Japanese, I only started learning it in high school, and my mom helped a lot with getting up to speed, but my Japanese is not exactly flawless, and I barely know anyone on the team, I just have friendlies under my belt and I didn’t have any problems _then_ , but it could be different with the World Cup, and I-”

“Kira,” Allison says gently, nudging Kira’s shinguard with her cleat.  “You only need to be able to give scripted answers to the press, if they have any common sense at all, and I’m sure you can handle basic conversations with your teammates.  Not all of your teammates are with Japanese clubs, either, right?  And I bet you know all the soccer terms backwards and forwards, anyway.”

“What if I freeze up and can’t communicate with them?  What if I can’t build up the right rapport because my Japanese is terrible.  What if I didn’t learn enough with the games we played, and they made a horrible decision, and I don’t fit in with-”

“Kira,” Allison repeats, more firmly this time.  “You’ll be fine.  Your mom would tell you if your Japanese was terrible, and it’s too late to change your mind now, anyway, right?”

“Yeah,” Kira agrees, and Allison gives up, plopping down next to her on the bench.  She glances around, glad to see that the only person witnessing Kira’s meltdown is Cora, who has her headphones in, anyway.  Kira would be embarrassed later, otherwise.  Kira takes a long breath and leans against Allison.  “I’m sorry.  You’re right.  It will be fine.  We might not even make it out of the first set of games, anyway, so it might not be a problem for long, right?”

Allison snorts and wraps an arm around Kira, the fabric of Kira’s jersey rubbing against her bare skin.  “You’re playing with Japan, it’s a good team.  You made the team because they have faith in you.  You’re playing in the World Cup because they know you can play soccer really well and represent their country out there on the field.  You’re a good investment.  You’d have to be, because they could’ve had so many other people fill those deceptively large cleats of yours.”

“You can hear the Argent in you talking,” Kira says, leaning against Allison’s shoulder.  “That sounds like it could’ve been straight out of your mom’s mouth.”

“Or Kate’s, if there were more cursing,” Allison agrees.  “But that means you can’t argue I’m wrong, right?  Because if you want the emotional appeal, I can do that, too.”

“I’ll pass for now.  But when things get closer…”

“We can freak out together,” Allison reassures her.  “It’s not a World Cup if no one has a nervous breakdown.  We’ll just have to make sure we help each other out, so it’s not one of us.”

“No nervous breakdowns for us,” Kira parrots, and Allison squeezes her tight.  

“But more shirtless hugs, apparently,” Cora says from across the locker room, one earbud in her hand.  “You two can do the sappy shit and the sex stuff in the car home, right?  They’re gonna lock up soon.”

Kira pinks up, and Allison rolls her eyes, though she does peel herself from Kira.  “Hales,” she whispers conspiratorially to Kira, setting Kira off to nervous giggles.  

“Laura was even worse, if you remember,” Cora reminds her.  “Laura’d be tossing you condoms.”

“Hales,” Allison repeats, shaking her head.  She was only on the team with Laura one year before she retired, but she remembers enough to know that Cora isn’t wrong.  She gets up from the bench and grabs a shirt from her locker.  “Dental dams would be more useful, anyway.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Cora says, which Allison knows is true and puts Allison on edge, teasing or not.  “She only kept the condoms there because Kate was fucking the coach.”

“She’ll see you at the airport,” Kira interrupts, before the two can even fall into their usual pattern of… whatever their interactions can be considered.  Not quite harmless teasing, especially when Kate comes up, because Kate’s a complicated subject in and of herself.  Not quite fighting, though, either.  It doesn’t bother Allison, not _really_ , but it makes her a little nervous, the way Cora hovers around uncomfortable topics.  Kira picks up on it most of the time.  “You’ll see each other at the airport.  We’re gonna get dressed now, though.”

“Take your time,” Cora says, swinging her bag over her shoulder.  “Yukimura, have fun.  And don’t fuck up.  I want to get to defend shots on goal from you in a real game.”

“Good luck to you, too, Cora,” Kira says.  Cora grins and brushes by to ruffle Kira’s hair before she’s off.

“She always messes with your hair,” Allison says forlornly as she watches Kira redo her braids and go back to putting her clothes on.  

“It always riles you up,” Kira says reasonably.  Allison can’t exactly argue with that, so she closes her mouth and goes back to changing.

They head out to the parking lot just before the janitor comes to lock up, and Kira goes to chatting about the new froyo place down the street.  Allison guesses that their previous conversation is effectively over.

She wouldn’t be surprised if it pops back up later, but Kira’s nerves seem eased for now.

* * *

 

Allison and Kira’s first games are both on the same date, in totally different locations.  With the time zone change, Allison’s game ends up being earlier in the day.  Regardless, Kira’s flight up to Vancouver leaves before Allison’s trip up to Winnipeg.  Although Allison knows from experience that they’re going to need as much time as possible to play as a team before the first game, she’s a bit relieved that Kira leaves first.  

The closer they get, the more Kira’s nerves ramp up, until Allison is almost getting a contact high from them.  She hears Kira speaking more with her mother on the phone than she has the entire time they’ve been living together, rapid Japanese that Allison wishes she could follow.  There’s no overlap besides English in the languages they speak, since Kira’s only other foreign language skills are the bits of Spanish she picked up back when she was dating Scott.

Allison doesn’t need to be able to speak Japanese, though, to hear and see how increasingly nervous Kira is getting.  Allison drags her into binge-watching Netflix instead of going over plays locked up in her room, which seems to help some.  If there’s one thing that Allison has learned from living with Kira, it’s that bad sitcoms and sweets always make everything better.  

“You’re an amazing friend, you know” Kira mumbles to her, a week before it’s time for her to go.  

Kira’s half-asleep on the couch, the indie French movie she picked out less entertaining than either of them had hoped.  Reading the tiny subtitles at the bottom of the tv screen started giving Kira a headache three quarters of the way through it, though after years of French and some time playing in the leagues there, Allison doesn’t need them.  She translates for Kira, whispering the words into her ear from where Kira’s tucked under her arm, a warm blanket pulled up around their bodies.  Allison is warm and close to Kira, and it’s hard not to be hyperaware of every movement Kira makes under the blankets.

“Hm?” Allison says, and Kira curls up closer.

“I’m glad your last landlord was awful,” Kira replies, and Allison snorts.  “I mean, I’m not really glad they were awful, but I’m glad it led to us being roommates.”

The actors continue on in French, but Allison isn’t focusing on a word they’re saying anymore.  “I’m glad, too.”

“Living with someone on the team is really nice, too,” Kira says.  It’s not where Allison wants the conversation to go, although being Kira’s teammate and roommate is nice.  She lets Kira talk anyway.  “Having someone who gets it, and who has the same schedule as me.”

“Haven’t gotten sick of me yet?” Allison teases, and she feels Kira’s head lean on her shoulder, a new weight paired with Kira’s braided pigtail draping down Allison’s collarbone, soft and tickling.  

“I don’t think I could ever get sick of you,” Kira says earnestly.  “I like you a lot.”

They give up on the movie and head off to brush their teeth.  Kira starts yawning in the middle of flossing, and Allison gets the giggles, almost snorting toothpaste out her nose.  Kira grins at her and gently hip checks her, and Allison spits, grinning just as brightly.

Allison goes back to her own room, strips down to her panties and t-shirt, and slips under the covers of her bed.  She tries not to think about how it felt being so close to Kira, about the sincerity and levity of Kira’s, “I like you a lot.”  She knows in that direction only lies frustration and wistfulness, neither of which is particularly amenable to falling asleep.

But she wonders, sometimes.  She wonders if Kira has any idea what her words mean to Allison’s ears.  Or, rather, what she wishes they’d mean.  Allison hopes she doesn’t.  She hopes that Kira doesn’t know how much she likes her, that Kira can see Allison as someone trustworthy and important to her without the secret ever getting out.  What they have now is solid, is easy and natural and makes Allison really happy.

Rejection is a risk Allison isn’t willing to take, and Allison is okay being single, anyway.

* * *

 

As a last ditch effort to soothe Kira’s anxiety, Allison volunteers to drive her to the airport.  Allison doesn’t mind the drive, and even with the endorsements that put Allison in a pretty comfortable position financially, neither of them really wants to be cabbing everywhere they need to go.  Kira’s barely out of the college days of scrimping on everything but sports gear, rent, and food.  Allison is weak for a pair of pretty boots, and can afford them, if she wants, but still would rather split rent with someone than live on her own any longer than she has to.

Plus, the idea that she can give Kira one last, ditch pep talk appeals to Allison.  Kira may not be playing for the same team as Allison, but Kira is Allison’s teammate and roommate and friend, and Allison wants her to do well.  She’s tossed around the idea of them playing each other in the final more than once, though it seems to make Kira more green than it does reassured.  So Allison changes her approach.  She knows that Kira tends to take things one game at a time, anyway.

The drive to the airport isn’t too long, though it is too early.  Allison downs a mug of coffee that she really shouldn’t be drinking, and Kira’s eyes droop as she complains about international flights.  Kira mumbles the list of things she needs, “ _gear, clothes, toiletries_ ,” to herself the entire first part of the ride there, even though it’s too late for them to turn back if she did forget something.  Kira packs light, anyway, and there aren’t a lot of things she couldn’t buy or pawn off a teammate if she forgot it.   

Allison goes ahead and parks in the garage at the airport and carries one of Kira’s bags up to luggage check, waiting next to her in line.  

“I think you’ll do great,” Allison says, when Kira’s bag is finally checked and Kira’s ready to head to security.  “If your teammates are dicks, I’ll come rescue you.  Or Cora will, which is even more scary.  And don’t worry about the public or the media or whatever.  This is the only time they’ll care about any of us for a while, so don’t let them get to you.  Treat the press like you do the other team.  They’ll try to get under your skin.  You just gotta be stronger than them, and don’t let them psych you out.”

“Does running past really quickly with the ball work as well with the press?” Kira teases, and Allison smiles.

“I’ve never tried it, but if anyone could pull it off, it’d be you.”

Kira wraps her free arm around Allison and pulls her into a hug.  “Thank you.  For being so great about this.  I know you’ve done this before, and you have a lot of experience with the press, for a women’s soccer player, but you don’t have to do this.  And I know I’ve been a bit exhausting the last few weeks, and it’s probably silly, and-”

“Hey,” Allison says, pulling away so she can look Kira in the eye.  “You’re my best friend.  That’s what I’m here for.  It’s scary the first time, but you’ve got this.  Just take care of yourself, go to all your practices, eat whenever they feed you, and get as much sleep as you can.  Keep hydrated.  And have fun, okay?  At the end of the day, you’re up there to play soccer, and you wouldn’t be playing if it weren’t fun.”

“Okay, mom,” Kira teases.  “Thanks though, and you have fun, too.  Don’t kill Cora, she’s a good goalie, and you need her.”

“Do we really need her?” Allison asks, and Kira’s laugh washes over Allison, warming her.  “I won’t kill her, though, I promise.  Just for you.”

Kira glances back at the security line.  It’s shorter than it was before, though both of them know that won’t last for long.  “Okay,” Kira finally says.  “I should go now.  I’ll see you in the finals, right?”

“Right,” Allison confirms.  “I love you.”

Kira smiles and pecks Allison on the cheek, darting back out to gather herself together.  “Love you too, Allison.”

* * *

 

Allison watches Kira get through security and waves to her when she turns around at the other side.  When Kira’s braided pigtails disappear, Allison gets her keys from her pocket and walks back to the parking garage.

The entire ride home, she circles the words through her head.  They aren’t new ones, though they don’t come up as frequently as the ‘I like you’s that make Allison’s heart beat fast.  They aren’t even words that she and Kira have passed back and forth exclusively, in spite of Kira being Allison’s best friend on the team, and vice versa.  

The words haven’t always come the easiest for Allison.  She’s close with most people on the team, and playing soccer with them for as long as she has by now has given her an appreciation for physical contact and openly expressing affection.  She knows how good it feels to be in the center of a huddle, to be tackled to the ground after a game-winning play or to get high fives or butt pats or post-victory drunk ‘I love you’s.  Becoming part of the team was a process for Allison.

Kira came to the team, and Allison recognized the wide-eyed, overwhelmed expression all too well.  It was for different reasons, Allison soon learned; Allison had drowned, for a while, when she went pro, used to the pep talks from Kate about not being able to trust anyone in the game, or to the talks from her mother about how anyone could get inside her head.  Kira was more overwhelmed by the enormity of everything, overwhelmed by the mere idea of being in the big leagues and playing with some of her heroes.  That was the one thing that had never really gotten under Allison’s skin.  She was an Argent, trained from birth for this.  She was always going to make it to where she is, and the idea of letting down the family was always more terrifying than the idea of having too many eyes on her.

Kira, at least, had the experience of playing for a closely-knit college team.  The ‘I love you’s always come quickly for Kira, in a way they never did, for Allison.  Too quickly and too easily for Allison’s comfort.  She remembers the unexpected tug in her gut the first time Kira had told her, her smile bright and fond, only weeks into knowing each other, “I love you.”  Kira didn’t think anything of it, and it ended up sending Allison down a tailspin in the showers, wondering what it could mean, only to feel silly the next day when she saw Kira cuddling up with Danielle, just as comfortable as she told _her_  she loved _her_.

She felt overdramatic, and she figured that it would go away, just a brief little rush of feelings that come with meeting someone new.  It happens, sometimes, when Allison meets someone, that twinge of needing to be close to someone, the rush of someone new and exciting and interesting and fun and the desire to experience as much of them as she can.  It’s not romantic love, or crushing, not like Kira always describes it (though she has it on authority that Kira’s a hopeless romantic, even by most people’s standards).  It’s not romantic love even like Cora describes it, though, either.  It never lingers long, or it settles comfortably into friendship.  Until Allison put the words to it, squish, and aromantic spectrum, Allison has always thought of it as just a selfish thing, that ugly nagging in her chest that she just has to will away.  She can’t be everybody’s most important person; it’s unreasonable to expect her to be _anybody’s_  most important person.

But the longer she knows Kira, and the more time she spends with Kira curled up on the living room floor, playing games on her cell phone, or shopping for inexpensive dishware with Kira because Kira always drops the expensive stuff, or in the car driving back and forth from practice, the more certain she is that there may be something other than friendly feelings or squishy feelings there.  Because the need to be Kira’s important person doesn’t fade.  It just keeps growing, settling into Allison’s bones and heart, this urge to kiss her until her lips are swollen and to tell her ‘I love you’ and hear it back in a way that isn’t casual and friendly.

Kira is panromantic and homosexual.  She’d told Allison as much, one night, when she’d gotten tipsy and tried to drunk text Scott about how much she missed him.  She talked about experimentation in college and trawling blogs to figure out that was even a thing, and about how Scott didn’t bat an eye when she told him she might not be so attracted to him in a sexual way.  Allison was out as bisexual to the soccer world when Kira moved in, and had been for a couple of years even then.  The whole team knew, and it wasn’t any kind of big secret.  But she came out as aromantic that night to Kira, which was a big step for her, since it was never something she talked about very much, even with her team.  Kira hugged her, and Allison left the conversation hopeful.  Allison would absolutely both date and have sex with Kira, and Allison at least fits in with Kira’s expressed preferences, gender-wise.

Allison tries not to dwell on it.  It isn’t the end of the world, for her, either way.  Doing this crushing thing hasn’t fucked her and Kira up and won’t fuck her and Kira up, because Allison is determined not to let it get to her, and when Allison gets determined about things, they usually happen.  She can comfortably be friends with her roommate, and it won’t end her.  Kira’s friendship is actually hugely important to her, and devaluing friendship as somehow _less than_  something romantic sits badly with Allison, leaving a sour taste in her mouth and stomach.

But she still hopes.  She still hopes that at the end of the day, Kira will say, “I love you, Allison”, and that the words will be something for her, and just her.  

Kira texts her from when she gets through security until she boards her plane, so Allison keeps her phone next to her on the counter when she makes herself breakfast.  She’s done too much thinking, for the day, and there’s no way she’ll be sleeping anytime soon.

* * *

 

When Allison catches her own plane, Cora’s on the same flight as her, of course; that much was coordinated by the U.S. Women’s Soccer Team.  Their boarding pass numbers are one apart, which surprises Allison.  It doesn’t make sense until Malia slides into line between the two of them, her hair chopped shorter than the last time Allison saw her.

“I’m in town visiting Stiles,” she says, before either of them can demand an explanation.  “He’s off doing the Seattle thing with Scott right now, which is all Kira’s fault, by the way, and you need to yell at her.  Stiles has been dropping not so subtle suggestions that I trade over to you guys for months now.”

“I don’t know how much Hale blood one team can take,” Allison says, glancing pointedly back at Cora, and Malia snorts harder than Cora does.

“I’m a Tate, remember?  All the Hale blood in the world doesn’t change that.  You might want to check your email before you get too down on the Hales, though.  Roommate listings are up.”

Cora’s phone is in her hand before Allison can even process Malia’s words, and she’s swearing before Allison’s email loads on the shitty airport wifi.  “They paired us _again_.”

“They must’ve done by teams,” Allison says, dread sinking in as the email finally loads, and she sees her name and her team listed underneath Cora’s.  She scrolls through the rest of the list, confirming her suspicions as she sees Malia listed with Lydia and Erica listed with Hayden.  “They did it by teams.  Fuck.”

“Guess they didn’t learn from last time,” Malia says.  She slips a piece of bubblegum from her pocket to her mouth, chewing casually and adjusting the straps of her backpack.  She seems totally unfazed by the development, though Allison supposes she doesn’t really have a reason to care.  

“We’ve been on the same team for four years now,” Allison says.  “I guess they figured we’d worked it out by now.”

“If by worked it out you mean-” Cora starts, but Allison cuts her off.

“Time to board the plane,” she says, and Malia blows a small bubble, just the right size for the bright pink pop to cut through the space between them.

Allison puts her headphones in the moment the plane finishes take-off, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Cora order something clear that makes her nose wrinkle when she downs it.

Malia blows another bubble, and Allison closes her eyes to a loud pop.

* * *

 

Rooming with Cora won’t actually be all _that_ bad, Allison knows.  Most of the time they’ll be in Canada, they won’t be chilling out in the hotel.  They have a grueling schedule of games and traveling and practices and workouts and press and mandatory social events, and Allison knows that when she’s going to be in the hotel room, she’s going to be so dead tired that it will be more of a battle to stay awake than it will be to deal with spending that much time with Cora.  

She also knows that Cora actually really isn’t that awful, and that Cora really isn’t that hard to share a room with.  They each get their own bed, this time around, so she doesn’t have to worry about Cora’s tendency to steal all of the covers in her sleep.  She doesn’t have to worry about the fact that Cora is the heaviest sleeper known to man, and that she sets five alarms to get up in the morning, each one beeping more loudly and insistently than the next, because Allison always wakes up before Cora, anyway.  The beeping is annoying, but if Allison takes her shower when the first alarm goes off, then she’s coming out as the last one stops, and she can step out of the way to let Cora wander her way into the bathroom, her hair mussed and eyes half-shut with sleep.

She does have to worry about averting her eyes when Cora walks around the room, shameless and naked, especially after showers.  She does have to worry about seeing Cora with messy bedhead and sleepy eyes.  But Allison reminds herself that that’s something she can work around.  All she has to do is refocus on the neutral facts.

Cora can be genuinely mean in the mornings, but she mostly isn’t very verbose, so as long as Allison leaves her be while she’s still waking up, there’s really no arguing.  They can share the bathroom in relative peace and make their way down to the hotel lobby in the elevator without sniping at each other and get on the bus without a single bit of animosity.  That’s always saved for before games, the back and forth between the two of them that’s more notorious of a locker room ritual than Kira’s pacing or Lydia rerolling her socks until she’s satisfied that they’re perfectly placed and perfectly even.  It diffuses the pent-up anxiety Allison has in her chest before she walks out onto the field.  It can be even more prominent after games, when Cora can sink into comfortable teasing and jabbing and poking with the knowledge that Allison didn’t suck, and neither did she.  

Not sucking is only important to Cora when it comes to soccer playing.

“I call left bed,” Cora says the second they’re handed their keys.  “You get first shower, I get left bed.”

“I’d take first shower, anyway,” Allison reminds her.  “But I can use up all the hot water, if you want.”

“It’s a hotel,” Cora says.  “Unless their hotels are cheap, we shouldn’t be running out of hot water in our room.”

“We’re playing on turf,” Allison reminds her.  “I wouldn’t think too highly of how much they’re willing to spend on us.  I’m surprised they even paid for planes for us, they could’ve just as easily made us bus it.”

“One of these days we’ll tell FIFA to fuck off and they’ll actually listen,” Cora says as she mashes the up button for the elevator.

“I wouldn’t count on it.”

Allison swipes into their room, and she lets Cora claim her bed.  Allison knows she need to shower - she, like all human beings without an on-flight stylist, doesn’t travel well, and she needs to wash the airplane off her skin.  She gets the night off, and she plans to spend all of it in her room.  She’ll maybe talk Cora into splitting an order of something up to the hotel room before she showers, she decides.

She takes her time getting to the bathroom to shower, though, just to piss Cora off.  It backfires tremendously.

Allison’s letting the warm water stream down her back, her chill out playlist half done, when Cora enters the bathroom.  The cool air winds around the shower curtain, a breeze from the door blowing at Allison’s skin, and the steam flows out.  The tap turns on, and  Allison jumps, knocking her elbow against the shower wall when she hears Cora brushing her teeth.  Allison feels intensely aware of the fact that she’s undressed, only separated from Cora’s watchful eyes by the thin cover of the fabric hotel shower curtain.

“I hate you,” Allison grumbles, and Cora’s laugh fills the bathroom.

“Have fun with your hand,” Cora tells her, “there’s not a lot of privacy for the next few weeks.”

Allison wasn’t thinking of getting off before, but she is now.  If Allison weren’t naked and the air outside the shower wasn’t freezing, she’d storm out just to wring Cora’s neck.

* * *

 

Allison has never had a problem playing with people from other teams for international play.  She knows some people have issues with it, and every once in a while she hears stories from one of the other players about someone who was benched for being a dick and not wanting to play like part of a team.  Allison may hate someone’s guts when she’s out on the other side of the field from someone, but there’s no one she could fathom disliking enough to risk screwing up her team’s performance, or her own performance.  

The thing about having a soccer family and about playing soccer for the national team is that most of the people there are familiar faces by now.  If Allison didn’t know them from normal league play, she’d definitely known them from being on the team with her.  There’s always a newbie or two that have been called up to the national team just for major competition; this year, Heather and Violet are both new and probably starting, as long as they don’t fuck up too badly in the days leading up to the group stage games.  Still, most of the people on the team Allison knows and has played with before and can play with without difficulty.  Even with the newbies, though she hasn’t played with either of them before as teammates in games that matter, she at least has a feel for how they play from normal league play.

The practices zip by.  It takes Allison a scrimmage or two to sink back into the rhythm of things.  It’s too easy for her to forget herself, to look up for a cross and search for a 15 or long, dark hair, only to remember that Kira’s on the exact opposite end of the country, adjusting to playing with her team, too.

“Your crush isn’t here,” Malia reminds Allison when they jog to the sidelines for a water break, sweat drenching their practice jerseys.  “Get your head in the game, Argent.  I hope you don’t do this when you’re playing on your own team and Kira’s not up top.”

Allison’s saved from a response by Erica’s, “Isn’t Canada supposed to be _cold_?” complaint that consumes the rest of their water break, but she takes Malia’s words to heart.  She kicks her butt back into gear, refocusing on meshing with her team and relearning the roster, reminding herself that Heather likes the ball slightly in front of her and that Violet will always get a cross but will nearly never follow through with a corner.

They spend a lot of time in the weight room and a lot of their time on the field, and Braeden pushes them more than Allison would have thought, considering they have a big game coming up.  But Allison can see that they’re fitting back to fitting together.  Cora stops rolling her eyes whenever Lydia opens her mouth, and Erica tones down the “I’m flirting with you to psych you out” thing she does when she’s confronted with situations that intimidate her.  No one was ever intimidated by it, anyway; women’s soccer is a lot less afraid of gay people than men’s soccer.  Malia and Heather get along perfectly fine, in spite of Heather being Stiles’ first kiss, and they crack jokes together about Stiles’ clear and obvious Type.  

At practice, they work their asses off, running drills and passing exercises and corner kicks.  At dinners, they hang out, and afterwards, they meet with Braeden to talk strategy and lineups.  Allison feels good about where she is by the time the first round games start up, and Braeden announces that they’re skipping afternoon practices the day before their first game to watch the Germany/Côte d’Ivoire game on TV.

“It’s their first year in the tournament,” Braeden tells the team.  “No one expects them to stand a chance against Germany.  But I want you to watch anyway, because if this team plays the way I know it can, it’ll be us and Germany near the end.”

Even with that preface, the game is brutal.  Germany wins out 10-0, leaving Allison more nervous about the game tomorrow than she was when she started watching.  She’s heard a lot of the rhetoric and a lot of the commentator’s hype, despite her best efforts to block it out, and she knows Germany is slated to do well, in spite of injuries.  She knows it’ll be a while before they hit them, and she knows that Germany is always one of the teams to beat.

But ten to nothing?  Allison turns her phone off.  She doesn’t want any texts from Stiles or Scott about the game, or, even worse, calls from her mother or Kate.  She doesn’t want to give herself the option of poking around online to see what people are saying.  She just wants to focus on her own games.

The whistle blows, and Braeden turns the television off.  “Well, what did you learn?” Braeden asks them all from where she’s sprawled on the bed.

“Well, I know what I learned,” Violet says.  “You all get psyched out way too easily.  It’s _Ivory Coast_.  Germany’s a mess this year, and as soon as we see them up against a team that can _actually play_...”

“Confidence is attractive, cockiness is not,” Lydia says mildly, looking at her nails.  “If you think Germany’s ever going to be _easy_ , you’re more of a liability than you are an asset.”

Violet gets ready to work up a fume, but Braeden cuts her off.  “What _technically_  can we learn from watching the game?” she asks.

Heather throws in a useful comment, and they get talking.

Braeden sends them all to bed early, so Allison and Cora get on the elevator and head back to the hotel room.  Allison can feel the nerves in the pit of her stomach; she isn’t really worried about them making it out of the group stages, though she knows she can’t take any of the games for granted.  It isn’t going to be easy; it’s going to be three games in eight days, traveling between the second and the third game and getting used to a new stadium and a new hotel room.  It’s going to be stressful, and there’s not going to be a lot of time to recover between games.  As a midfielder, she’s doing more work than anyone else out there, too, more running, more passing, more awareness of the field around her.  

“Do you still get nervous, too?” Allison asks Cora.  The two of them lie in bed, the big hotel room light off but the bedside lamp still on.  It casts the whole room in a quiet glow, illuminating the way Cora’s looking at the wall, staring into space.

“I shouldn’t,” Cora says, glancing over at her.  Allison hears just as clearly as Cora that it’s not a solid no, and it loosens some of the anxiety in Allison’s gut.  “It’s my job, but it’s supposed to be just a game.”

“But you do?” Allison prompts her.

“Yeah.”  Cora’s phone vibrates on the nightstand next to them, but she ignores it.  “I care about what happens.  It isn’t just a game to me.  Back in goal, what I do matters.  I don’t want to let my team down.  Or my country down.  I don’t even care that much about my country, as a country.  I left it to go play in South America for a few years.  But I still don’t want to let my teammates down, or the people watching at home.”

“Yeah,” Allison agrees.  “And it’s worse for us, too.”

“Family legacy means a lot of attention,” Cora grouses.  “Even Malia wound up here, and she isn’t even a Hale.  I hate Derek sometimes.  He ran off and decided to be a professor.  He never had to deal with living up to the family name once he skated through undergrad on a soccer scholarship.”  

“At least I couldn’t be more of a mess than Kate, right?” Allison says wryly.  “Great soccer player.  So much of a mess that when she got banned from the league, they didn’t even want her around to talk about soccer on TV, and she didn’t get a gig coaching college soccer.”

“I’d apologize for Laura,” Cora starts, “but I really don’t want to.  Kate needed out, and Laura’s her own person, anyway.  I would’ve done the same thing in her shoes.  She let her get away with shit for too long, as it was.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done,” Allison admits.  

“Hide from the press and pretend nothing happened?” Cora suggests wryly.

Allison flushes. “We aren’t talking about the game tomorrow anymore.”

“We aren’t,” Cora says.  She props herself up on her side, her front facing Allison’s bed.  Allison wants to get under the covers and pull them over her head, so she doesn’t have to deal with the way Cora is looking at her, like there’s something important on the tip of her tongue.  There is.  Allison knows it.  Allison knows what’s coming, and it isn’t something she wants to talk about.  Not now, when her stomach already feels jumbled with nerves.

Cora’s phone vibrates again, loud in the empty silence of the room.  Allison takes the out while she has it, quietly asking, “You gonna get that?”

Cora hesitates for a moment before she finally sighs and reaches out for her phone.  Her fingers tap against the screen, even, practiced pressure, her face swapping comically quickly from a pursed mouth and furrowed eyebrows to something distinctly more amused.

“Kira says your phone is still off, but she wanted to tell you good luck.  And me, since she texted my phone.”

“Oh,” Allison says.  She’d text Kira thanking her for saving a life, but Kira wouldn’t understand, and would probably think it was weird.  “Tell her thanks from me, and good luck to her, too.”

“...and I heart you, end quote” Cora says, typing and pressing send, dropping the phone onto the bed.  A giant grin forms on her face when she sees the slow creep of embarrassment and horror onto Allison’s.  “You’re welcome.”

“Oh my god,” Allison says.  “You didn’t really send that to her, did you?”

Cora’s phone vibrates, and she pulls up the text.  “Tell Allison I love her, too,” she reads, holding it out so Allison can see.  “You’re welcome,” she repeats smugly.  “Now you should go to bed.”

“I still hate you,” Allison says, though there’s no heat behind it.  “You’re the worst.”

“I am,” Cora agrees.  “It’s not like you’ve never heard it from her before, anyway.”

“I know,” she says.  “That doesn’t make you not the worst.”

“Just sleep,” Cora says.  “You can angst about it later.”

* * *

 

The group stages are a rush.

Allison walks onto the field, remembering the feeling of huge crowds pressing in on them, people wearing her jersey and chanting her name.  It’s a boost of needed confidence.  A reminder that what she does and how she does _matters_ , to the people in the stands, at least.  To the people back home, watching on their televisions, biting their nails and hoping for the best.

“You ready to trash their Aussie asses?” Erica asks Allison while they’re waiting to get into position.  Allison can feel how fired up she is from the way she’s looking out at the crowd, her face determined, like she’s ready to fight.  

Allison’s trying to remain calm and keep level-headed, because this is just one game out of many, but as they do their pre-game pep talk and huddle, she can feel her energy surging.  They line up on the field and wait for the whistle to blow.

It does, and America’s run at the Women’s World Cup begins.

None of the group stage games end up feeling like decidedly easy wins.

They take down Australia 3-1, and two of the goals are Allison’s.  It’s a bit of a relief, having it over with; she doesn’t have to spend games at a time fretting over whether she’s going to have a World Cup goal when she should be focusing her attention on other things.  It means she doesn’t have to worry about being tempted to make that whole teamwork thing she talked about so much interviews just lip service.  Allison not only picks up two goals, but also picks up a yellow card, so she has to be careful; one more and she’s sitting out for a game.   Either way, it’s a win and a two-point margin.  It’s three points towards moving on.  It’s a good start.  

Compared to their first game, Sweden is a rough one.  They come out 0-0 and exhausted, and all of them know the only reason they kept it at 0-0 was because Cora saved their asses.  It’s a point for them, putting them at four, but it’s not a win yet.  They don’t have a lot of time to recover before they’re shipping off from Winnipeg to Vancouver, a time zone swap and a new hotel room and another new field with turf.  

The game against Nigeria ends in 1-0.  It’s the win they need to cement them into first place above Australia, and Allison’s immensely glad they’re into the group rounds.  Her knee bothers her, a little bit, during the last half, because Allison is used to playing a lot, but this is on a scale entirely different, and her body is exhausted.  She plays most of the way through and is pulled out near the end, because Braeden notices.  Braeden always notices.  Allison doesn’t even really care, though.  It makes Braeden a good coach, and it doesn’t make a difference in the score.  They’re through to the next stages, facing Colombia.

It’s only an hour and a half flight to Edmonton, but they’re leaving early the next morning to give themselves as much time to recover as possible.  There’s six whole days before their next match, almost a full week.  It feels like ages, considering how action-packed and smushed together the games have been so far.

It seems like not all of Allison’s teammates are so focused on recovering, though.

“Hey, Argent,” Cora calls from across the locker room after the game, slipping her goalie gloves into her bag.  “Tonight’s our last night free on the town for a while.  A bunch of us are going out, you wanna come?”

“I’m not going to the airport or to practice tomorrow morning with a hangover,” Allison says immediately.  “You know Braeden will kick our asses if we screw around.”

“Oh come on,” Cora says, rolling her eyes.  “You’re old enough to know you can go out without getting shitfaced.”

“Lydia would even not drink with you,” Malia points out.  “Lydia never drinks when we go out.”

“We have to get up early, either way,” Allison reminds her.  “We’re going to go out and Danielle and Heather are going to get drunk and not want to leave, and Malia will encourage them, and by the time we get back, it will be three in the morning, and we’ll have to get up in another three and a half hours to catch our flights...”

“I mean, if you’d rather be boring and miss out of team bonding…” Cora adjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder.  “You’re welcome to be the team spoilsport.  I think we have a 20-year-old on the roster who won’t be allowed into the bar, you two can go to sleep early together.”

“Perfect,” Allison says.  “Sounds perfect to me.  I can be old and boring and well-rested tomorrow when the rest of you look like you’re going to die on the soccer field.  Maybe Braeden will even start me because of it, because I-”

“She’ll start you anyway,” Erica interrupts.  “Everyone knows you’re going to start.”

“They’ll put you in the first half of the game, and if we aren’t losing, they’ll take you out and put a young kid who might not play again in the World Cup but will be in the next one,” Cora agrees.  “The commentators will say they want to rest you up because of your knee.  Come on, Argent, you know how this works by now.”

“I think I’m gonna stay in tonight,” Allison decides, Marin’s sideways glances back in her office in Seattle at the forefront of her mind.  “I’ll go out with you after the games are done, but I think I’m gonna focus on them, for now.  You guys have fun, though.”

Cora looks at her, her face unreadable.  Allison shrugs at her, and Cora sighs.

“Fine.  But expect to get woken up at 3 AM,” she says, and Allison groans.

* * *

 

Allison actually enjoys her night in.

She eats dinner with the rest of the team and then heads back to the hotel with Cora so Cora can get ready and Allison can chill out.  After being on Cora’s team for as long as Allison has, Cora’s getting ready routine is not new to Allison.  It involves a lot of throwing clothes from Cora’s suitcase to the floor and a lot of glaring at eyeliner and making Allison, who never wears eyeliner herself, take over doing it for her.  Cora doesn’t usually flinch and manages to sit still, which makes it easier than putting eyeliner on Stiles or Scott.  It’s still amusing to Allison, and she lets Cora struggle with it for a while before she steps in and takes the brush from Cora’s hands.  

Allison puts one hand on Cora’s cheek to steady her and moves her other hand and the eyeliner very slowly towards Cora’s eye.  It’s easy to focus in on what she’s doing until she’s finished her careful line of black and backs away, a “How do I look?” from Cora making her realize just how close to Cora’s face she is, just how gentle Cora’s skin is under her hand.

“You know you look hot,” Allison says, pulling herself away, distancing herself.  “You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“No, I don’t,” Cora agrees as she takes the eyeliner back.  “But I like making you say it.”

Allison’s stomach dips at the cocky expression on Cora’s face, and Allison has to turn herself around.  She covers by reaching for her computer.  “I’m not doing your lipstick for you,” Allison warns.  “I’m gonna skype with Kira in a few.”

Cora shoves some money and cards in the pocket on the back of her phone case and shoves it in the pocket of her jacket.  “Tell your girlfriend congrats from me,” Cora tells her, even though Allison knows Cora sent that text herself already.  “I’m heading out now, unless...”

“Not changing my mind,” Allison reiterates.  “I’m in my pajamas.”

“Trust me,” Cora says, her eyes tracing down Allison’s body, making her blush.  “I noticed.”

“You’re terrible!” Allison calls after her as she opens up the doorway and slips into the hallway.  “You’re an ass, and the absolute worst.”

“Love your ass, too!” Cora says, which Allison thinks was maybe missing the point.

* * *

 

Allison didn’t realize how much she was missing Kira until she gets on Skype with her and sees her happy, although sleepy, face.  Kira’s cuddled up in her pajamas, the same as Allison, and it almost feels a little bit like home, even though they’re 1400 miles apart.

Kira has an extra day until their game against the Netherlands, though they’re traveling to Vancouver, so it’s a bigger distance.  Allison tells her to take care of herself and make sure she gets as much rest as she possibly can, and Kira teases her for momming her.  Kira turns it back on her by asking about her knee, and Allison promises a long soak in the bath once she gets off Skype.

They talk soccer a little bit, though they mostly stay away from the topic.  Kira congratulates Allison on her goals, and Allison congratulates Kira for starting in all three games in her first World Cup.  They talk about how Kira’s fitting in with her teammates, and Kira has only positive things to say, which Allison expected.  Allison has played on a bunch of soccer teams over the years, and she’s found that, more than anything, as long as you aren’t actively a dick and you hold your own weight, it isn’t too hard to get along with most people.

They take a brief detour to talk about Canada and the press and time zones before circling back around to talk about the U.S. team.

“Everyone’s good,” Allison says.  “I think the team this year’s a good mix.  I wouldn’t be surprised if after this World Cup, we had a flood of newbies preparing for the next one, because everyone keeps harping about how we have an older team, but everyone seems to be working well together and getting along.”

“Have you murdered Cora yet?” Kira teases, and Allison groans.  She’s getting ready to be kind; Kira understands better than most the day-to-day dynamics of Allison and Cora, and Allison plans to be generous.  But it’s only 11:00 PM and there’s a click from the door and the twisting of a knob, and she decides to take a different route.

“The thought of murdering Cora’s come up a couple of times, but I haven’t done it yet,” Allison says as Cora enters the room, her long, straight hair mussed and her jacket draped over her arm.  “She’s been stellar in goal, I think the team would murder me if I murdered her.”

“Scott mentioned that he was surprised they put you two together in the first place,” Kira says, her brows furrowed.  

“We aren’t exactly the bestest of friends,” Allison says.  Cora seems to have caught on pretty quickly that she’s being talked about; she fixes Allison with a long stare, one eyebrow raised, as she dumps her jacket on top of her luggage and comes towards Allison’s bed.

“Is that really the only reason why?” Kira asks.  “I mean, not that that isn’t a good reason by itself, but it seemed like… I mean, Stiles kept saying he thought they would’ve learned after the last World Cup when I skyped with him.  Did something happen?”

It’s not something Allison really likes to talk about, and if she were alone, she’d steer the conversation away, most likely.  She isn’t alone, though, not anymore.  There’s a loud thump as Cora plops down next to her on the bed, reeking of alcohol.

“You don’t know?” Cora asks, and Allison is filled with dread.

“Oh, hi Cora!” Kira says.  “I didn’t realize you were back!  If you guys want to sleep, I can get off-”

“Yeah,” Cora starts, cutting kira off.  “Getting off.  I can’t believe no one told you, Malia was there, and it got some minor news coverage.  Not in the states, of course, not from the big networks, because _god forbid_  women’s soccer have women who like other women, but-”

“Cora,” Allison hisses, her eyes darting back and forth between Cora and the screen.  Kira only looks more confused than she did before, and Cora doesn’t look like she has any intention to quit talking.

“No, it’s fine,” Cora says.  “You like Kira.  Trust her.  Share everything with her?  I know your mother railed you hard for this one, especially after the mess with Kate, ‘the Argent girls in the news for something that isn’t them upholding the _proud legacy_  of the Argents again…’”

“ _Cora_ ,” Allison urges, feeling a little bit sick.  She’s been planning on telling Kira.  She has.  Not that Kira couldn’t have found it out on her own just from a quick google news search of Allison’s name filtered the right way.  There was always the chance that she had known and just never said anything, out of politeness.

“Getting caught fucking with a teammate in a sketchy club in Germany isn’t PC enough for Victoria and Chris Argent’s daughter,” Cora says to Kira, her smile sharp.  “Especially when she didn’t even have drunkenness to hide behind.  Can’t get caught with your mouth on the goalie’s cunt in a club bathroom and get away with it when you’re a fledgling international soccer star, it turns out.  You get _reprimanded_.  Don’t get to start the next game.  Get the entire team lectured for _propriety_.  Get smeared in a few small German newspapers and get everyone online talking about your sexuality, because even the most conservative assholes have to admit there’s nothing _gal pal_  about eating pussy.  Sometimes you get so hung up and ashamed that you quit having sex with the goalie, even when you’re both still into each other.”

When Cora stops talking, the room is so silent Allison could hear a pin drop.  Allison stares down at her hands, because she’s too terrified of what she might see if she looked at either of them right now.  She could hear the sneer in Cora’s voice, the genuine bite that only shows up when she’s fucked up or fucked over, or both.  Allison didn’t need, on top of everything else, for Cora to announce that she still wants Allison.  It’s something Allison herself has been trying to ignore, for four years now.

And then there’s Kira.  Allison doesn’t know what to expect from her, but she would expect none of it’s good.  There’s almost nothing positive to derive from what happened; Allison was publicly outed, and if it were in even a slightly more conservative country, she could’ve gotten herself into real trouble.  She still remembers how she felt in the moment, still remembers the darkness of the bathroom, the grungy floor getting her bare knees dirty, the taste of Cora’s cunt.  She felt reckless and on top of the world after they beat France and made it to the finals, and it all came crashing down with the click of a phone camera.

Allison doesn’t like thinking about it, let alone talking about it.

There’s noise from Kira’s room, and Kira says something loudly in Japanese.  Allison isn’t sure if she’s more relieved that Kira’s roommates seem to be back, because Allison can escape this conversation for a little bit longer, or if she’s more afraid of not knowing what Kira thinks.

It doesn’t matter, either way.  “I gotta go,” Kira says to them in English, her tone neutral.  “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Love you,” Allison says without thinking.  She’s only saved by the fact that Kira’s already hung up.

* * *

 

Allison switches seats on the plane to Edmonton.  She sits next to Lydia, as far from her own seat as she can get.  Cora twists around in her seat, once, to try to talk to her.

Kira hasn’t texted Allison back since she hung up the night before.  Allison ignores Cora.  She puts her headphones in and tries to sleep, instead.

* * *

 

“You can’t keep ignoring her,” Lydia says when they land down and Allison pulls her earbuds out.  “As mad as you are, you’re rooming with her, and you can’t ignore her once we get to practice.”

Allison checks her phone, but there’s still nothing from Kira, even though it’s a reasonable time for someone to be awake.  “I kind of want to keep ignoring her,” she admits.

“What she did wasn’t good,” Lydia says gently, her hand on Allison’s arm.  “And when this is over, we can both be pissed at her together forever.  You don’t even have to be not mad at her now, you-”

“Just can’t bring it onto the field, I know,” Allison says.  Lydia knows how Allison copes, burying her anxieties and her fears and her insecurities and all of the negative emotions that won’t push her forward.  It’s what her mother taught her; only bring onto the field what you can use.  Keep the rest out of soccer.

Allison also knows that Lydia’s probably right, though.  She needs to get herself to a point where she can go out onto that field with Cora and get along, and where she isn’t lying there in her room at night grousing and seething and fretting, losing sleep.

“We aren’t going to talk about it right now,” Allison informs Cora when she hands her her hotel room key.  “I’m not going to deal with it until I can talk to you about it more calmly.”

“Fine,” Cora says, tucking the key in her pocket.  She doesn’t apologize.  Allison doesn’t expect her to.  “We’ll talk about it when you’re more reasonable.”

In the locker room before practice, Allison breathes it all out as best she can.  If she shoots a little harder on goal that day than she usually does, that’s neither here nor there.

* * *

 

Colombia is a struggle.

Allison knows it’s going to be when nine minutes into the game, she’s already got a foul marked down.  She wishes she could claim that it’s just things with Cora working themselves out in the form of aggression, but she really can’t; fouls are flying left and right, no one’s scoring at all, and she feels like she’s being mobbed by players from the other team.  Allison can feel herself getting more and more frustrated, because everyone’s pushing and shoving and getting clogged up, and it makes it impossible to play clean soccer.

They’re at 41 minutes, just a couple of minutes from the end of the first half, and Allison fouls again.  She watches as the ref books her for another yellow card, the second one in the first four games, and she knows she’s fucked.  No matter how well she plays this game, whether she scores five goals or gets ten assists, she’s off the field for the whole next game.  She can’t even sit on the subs bench.  She’s completely and totally out.

Braeden isn’t thrilled about the yellow card, but she’s pleased that they’ve been holding their own, and that Cora has had the opportunity to get bored back in goal.  Malia makes an empty threat about strangling someone on the other team, but Allison feels almost disconnected from it.  She can’t let herself get hung up in the emotion of it.  She has to keep herself focused, because Braeden puts Allison back onto the field for the second half, and Allison has to make her presence there worthwhile.

At the 47th minute, they have their big break.  Erica’s fouled in the box by their goalie, and though Malia misses the penalty kick, the goalie’s sent off for the foul.  Three minutes later Erica’s scoring the first goal of the game.  There are a few corner kicks and a few off-sides calls, but nothing of note until the 65th minute.

Allison’s got the ball in the goal box when she gets shoved, a firm shove with a hand digging into her side that has her tripping and losing the ball.  Allison’s side hurts, but she hears the whistle blow and sees a yellow card go up.  It’s a PK, and Heather gets ushered towards the penalty kick line.

Allison holds her breath as Heather backs up and waits for the whistle, keeping her eyes on the ball and watching Heather getting a few steps of jog before her foot connects.  It sails into the net, going over the goalie’s head.

2-0, with the game nearly two thirds over.  There’s still a ton of time for things to happen and for Colombia to score, but nine minutes later, Allison is back on the bench, stretching and rubbing at her side and grabbing her water bottle.

“Way to take one for the team,” Malia says from the bench, giving Allison a high five as she sits down next to her.  “You and Lydia are both sitting out the next one.”

“As long as there’s a next one to lose,” Allison replies.  

Malia snorts.  “Way to be an optimist, there, Argent.”

It turns out that Malia’s right, though.  They manage to hold at 2-0, which officially puts them in the quarterfinals against China in Ottowa.  

Allison ignores the missed calls from her mom when she turns her phone back on and waits until the hotel room to take a long shower.  Cora doesn’t say anything, at first; she seems to realize Allison isn’t exactly in the mood for a friendly chat.

It isn’t enough to prevent talking about things at all, though, it seems.  “I’m sorry I told her,” Cora says as Allison tries to dodge her to go brush her teeth.  “I’m not sorry I said I was still interested.  But I’m sorry I told her.  You should tell her good luck, just like you always do.”

“She hasn’t texted me back since,” Allison says quietly.  She’s still pissed, though a lot of it’s faded to sadness and a dash of hopelessness.  

“Just message her,” Cora says.  “She’s probably sick with nerves right now.”

So Allison does.  Kira doesn’t respond to her, even after Japan wins their game, but Allison hopes, just a little bit, that her message to Kira helps.

Allison feels weird the morning of the China game, knowing concretely that she won’t be going on the field.  Cora teases her all morning to try to cheer her up, back and forth nagging like they always did before.  It makes her really hard to stay mad at, because even in her gloomy mood, Allison can recognize that Cora’s trying.  Allison knows she’s putting every effort into cheering Allison up, and making sure Allison knows that she isn’t upset.  It helps a little bit.  The rhythm of it is relaxing to Allison, helps her deal with some of the pent-up dread and anxiety.  It’s not perfect, though.  Allison will probably be bitter eternally if it fucks things up with her and Kira permanently, and she’s hoping desperately that that doesn’t happen.  

“Block every goal this game for me and _maybe_  you’re forgiven,” Allison finally says, and Cora grins.

“Challenge fucking accepted.”

Cora takes Allison’s words to heart.  She was helped by the fact that Heather kicked ass the entire game, and the fact that the team kept the ball mostly in the Chinese half of the field.  They only came away with a 1-0 win after a pre-halftime goal, but Allison doesn’t even care.  

They pulled through and are on to face Germany in the semifinals, and this time, Allison’s back on the field.

* * *

 

Braeden announces the list of starters for the next game that very night, and she brings them all in to meet in her hotel room to talk.  It’s a bit cramped, a team full of players squished into a room with a big bed, but they don’t exactly have a better place to meet with privacy.

“Germany’s gonna be a big game,” Braeden says.  It’s an understatement, really.  This game is a make it or break it, could determine the winner of the World Cup.  Japan took it four years before, and both teams are hungry.  “We’re gonna focus all our effort on this game.  Germany barely beat France, and they’ve been showing signs of wear, but we can’t act like they won’t kick our asses if we slack off.”

“We’ll kick our own asses if we slack off,” Cora says, which is also an understatement.  It has Braeden smiling, though, because she’s a good coach, and she respects that though she gets to give the ‘get your asses in gear’ talk every once in a while, they’re a team of professionals.  She treats them like it.

They have a strategy meeting and watch some tapes, and then Braeden lets them go for the night.  Allison didn’t even get cleats on the ground and she’s still exhausted.  When she and Cora go back to the room, she flops down on the bed, staring down the last of her stuff that needs to be packed up.  Cora is hovering, wanting to talk to Allison, and Allison knows that there’s a conversation or two they need to be having.  There are some things they’ve been avoiding talking about for far too long, and some things that Allison finally needs to come to terms with.

They’re interrupted before they start by Allison’s phone vibrating on the bed, “Mom’s Cell” on the screen.

Allison knows she has to answer.  She’s been dodging that call (those calls, there’s been more than one) for too long.  They aren’t going to stop.  They’re just going to get worse the longer she waits.  Victoria Argent doesn’t like being ignored, least of all by her daughter, and Allison knows that the calls are for her own good.  At least, that’s what her mom always says, has been saying for years.  Constructive criticism is a good thing, right?

Cora watches as Allison reaches for the phone, sees the look of dismay on Allison’s face.  “You don’t need to answer that,” Cora says firmly.  “You don’t need to cater to her all the time.”

Allison answers it, anyway.

“You’re incredibly lucky your team won without you today, Allison,” are the first words out of her mother’s mouth, and Allison knows this is going to be a rough call.  She gestures to Cora that she’s going to the bathroom, and before Cora can respond, Allison’s locking the bathroom door and sitting down on the rough bath mat on the floor.

“I know, Mom,” Allison says, tired.  “It’s a good team, I knew they’d pull through.”  It was the absolute wrong thing to say, and if she were less distracted, less caught up in stress and fretting about Cora and Kira and the World Cup, she might’ve held it back.

“Allison,” her mother says sharply.  “Remember what I taught you?  You play as part of a team, but at the end of the day...”

“Trust no one but yourself,” Allison says dutifully.  The words feel hollower than ever.  “I know Mom.  I was lucky.  But I’m starting Germany, and I’m not going to mess up again this time.”

“I should hope not,” Victoria responds.  “Do I need to remind you of the expectations we have for you as a member of the Argent family?  You’re expected to always be your best.  Be the best.  I don’t know what’s been going on in your head lately, but whatever it is, you need to push it to the side, because clearly it isn’t helping your performance in games.”

“I’ll be better,” Allison promises.  “I’ll be better, and we’ll win Germany.”

“Good,” Victoria says, pleased.  “Then let’s break down the disaster that happened in Colombia, and then we can talk strategy for Germany.”

* * *

 

Allison feels completely and utterly drained when she finally hangs up.  She drags herself up off the floor of the bathroom, her butt sore from sitting and her back aching from being pressed back against the hard surface of the tub.  She knows she’ll need to stretch out before bed, because she can’t afford to be sore and stiff the next day, but that requires more energy than she thinks she has at this point.  She goes into her bedroom, ignoring Cora’s concerned eyes, and sits down on the edge of her bed.

There’s a long silence, Allison not wanting to talk about the call or about her mother, and Cora knowing better than to delve too deeply into it right then.  Allison hates the silence, and she hates the pitying looks from Cora.  She can’t stop herself from trying to fill it with a small, “Sorry about that.  Parents, you know.”

Cora doesn’t respond, at first.  Allison doesn’t expect her to.  Cora sits down on the bed next to Allison, instead, and changes the subject.

“So I blocked all the shots,” Cora teases.  “That means you can’t be pissed at me anymore, right?”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t _actually_ work that way,” Allison says, and Cora nudges her thigh gently with her knee.  

“I don’t like it when you’re actually mad at me,” Cora tells her quietly.  “But I’m also not your mother.  I’m not going to tell you you have to shove down what you feel.  About anything.  Not about Kira, not about me.  If you’re pissed, you’re pissed, and the Hale Method of soccer doesn’t involve being fucked up and trying to hide from what you feel.  We’re much more about finding something, or someone, to keep you steady when you’re off your game and to bring you back to where you need to be.”

“That sounds kinda kitschy,” Allison says, but she presses her thigh against Cora’s, relaxing.  Criticisms of her mother’s methods still make her a bit prickly, especially coming from a Hale, but Allison knows deep down that Cora isn’t wrong.  “Probably a lot healthier, but definitely cheesy.”

Cora smiles.  “I mean, it’s not foolproof.  Derek’s the most emotionally constipated dude I’ve ever met, and if it weren’t for Braeden, I think he would’ve run and hid from soccer in its entirety.”

“I wish I could run and hide from soccer in its entirety, sometimes,” Allison admits.  “I still get nervous before every big game.  I still worry I’m not good enough, all the time, that I’m letting my team down.”

Cora’s hand reaches down and grabs Allison’s, squeezing.  “Pretty sure that means you’re human, and not pure Argent Robot.”

The two of them sit together for a while, and Allison feels more at ease than she has in a week and a half, even though the Germany game’s looming over both of their heads.  It’s nice having someone to just be there with, to hold her hand and talk to her.  It isn’t Kira; it doesn’t give Allison butterfly flutters and clammy hands.  Cora’s sharp but warm, even in her most abrasive moments, and the softness she’s showing Allison right now, when Allison needs it most, is making the tension Allison was holding in her body melt.

If Allison didn’t have to finish packing, she could fall asleep right there, just like that.  On the surprisingly soft hotel bed, her hand held by a pretty girl saying soothing words.  It feels at odds with everything she’s known for that person to be Cora Hale, one of the few people she’s ever drunkenly applied the word ‘frenemy’ to (Kira laughed so hard she snorted).

There aren’t many people who can make Allison feel stripped raw and bare like Cora, though.  There aren’t many people who get Allison the way Cora does, who know what Allison’s been through and what pressure Allison puts on herself.  What pressure Allison’s family puts on her.  There aren’t many people who are willing to call Allison on shit in a way that isn’t brutal or demeaning.  And there _definitely_  aren’t many people who are willing to flat out tell Allison that they’re attracted to her, whether she has feelings for them or not, and that they want to make her feel as good as she’ll let them.

“I’m still attracted to you, you know,” Allison finally says.  The words feel weird in her mouth, and she never thought they’d be words she said.  It was easier to push them off to the side, to protect herself from them.

“I know,” Cora says, squeezing her hand again.  “You may not be fairytale romance mushy hearteyes with me like you are with Kira, but I see the way you still look at me, sometimes.  You remember how fucking good my cunt was.”

“It was worth being papped for,” Allison jokes, because it’s easier than being genuine.  Cora lets go of her hand, finally, and Allison forces herself to sit up.  “You know, though.  That when it comes down to it…”

“Romance comes first, you want a relationship, Kira will forgive you for not telling her and you don’t think doing anything with me is a good idea,” Cora spools off.  “Trust me, I know.  I’ve thought about it.  I don’t expect anything from you, and I haven’t in years.”

“Even though you want it?” Allison asks.

“Yeah.”

Allison sighs.  It’s actually unsatisfying, in a way.  Knowing that they both want and coming to the conclusion that it doesn’t actually matter at all.  It feels like a losing solution, though it’s the only one Allison can really seem to find.  “I guess that helps.  Knowing where we both are, at least.”

“Yeah,” Cora repeats.  “Though I don’t know that that has to be it.  I don’t know if you’ve thought about it or not, but I don’t have a problem with you being in love with Kira.  And she might mind less than you think if you want to bone me.  Have you ever considered that maybe you can have both?”

The words stick in Allison’s head as she gets off the bed and finishes packing, and as she lays awake in bed that night.  It seems too good to be true, considering the fact that Allison doesn’t even really have either of them.  She doesn’t _have_ Kira, doesn’t have more than a tiny crush and dampened hope and a silent phone.

Her mom texts her a list of reminders before she goes to bed.  Be firm, watch your crosses.  Don’t let feelings get in the way.  Allison makes a face as she reads it, and Cora catches her eye and gives her a lingering look, and Allison finally Knows, finally understands what she needs to do.  She’s not ready to take a big step.  Not yet.  But she can take a little one, a step in the right direction.

“I miss you,” Allison texts Kira when she closes out of the message.  “I miss you and I love you, and I was scared to tell you because I was embarrassed.”  She doesn’t really expect any response, but she needs to send it, anyway.

Because now Allison is thinking about what Cora asked her, about why Allison can’t have both.  Allison doesn’t know that that is a real option.  But maybe she can have something she wants.  Maybe she deserves something nice, and maybe there’s a time for being brave.  

Maybe it’s time for her to go after she wants on more than just the soccer field.

* * *

 

The night before the Germany game, Allison gets a text.

Kira Yukimura 8:30 PM:  I miss you, too.  Good luck against Germany

Allison shows the text to Cora just to confirm that it’s real, and it takes her a minute or two to collect her thoughts enough to respond.

Ally A 8:38 PM:  thank you!!  hopefully it’ll go well, and your game against England will go well, and then we can both make it to the finals

Kira Yukimura 8:39 PM: That’d be really great!  I hope so.

“I got a whole exclamation point,” Allison whispers to Cora, and Cora rolls her eyes.  It’s a huge weight off Allison’s chest heading into Germany, though.  Kira’s at least talking to her, and doesn’t seem to hate her, which is a huge reassurance to Allison.

She sleeps well that night and wakes up loaded with nerves.  Allison thinks Cora might actually hold her down if she gets any more jittery, which is a nice thought, but not right then, not when she’s waiting for a big game.  She’s an athlete who is superstitious about fucking right before a game, and although she could, and it’s tempting, she waits it out.  

It’s a good thing, because Germany is intense.

Allison doesn’t think she’s run so hard and played so hard in her entire life.  Both teams have shots on goal in the first ten minutes.  There are two yellow cards in the first half, but it’s been a surprisingly clean game so far, especially compared to the last game Allison got to play.  At the end of the first half, both teams are scoreless, but Allison feels like the game is constantly pushing the Germans back again and again.  

Hayden fouls a German inside the box and walks away with a yellow card of her own, and then the star of the German team is lining up to take a penalty kick.  Allison and the rest of the team hold their breaths and watch as she shoots on goal, expecting the worst.

She misses.  She misses the goal, and it’s the burst of energy that the United States team needs to get back in the game.

Allison gets a shot or two on goal, but doesn’t score any points.  They still scoreless until Heather gets another PK landed in the net, and honestly, Allison could kiss her.  Allison goes out 80 minutes in and watches, sat on the edge of the bench, hoping and praying that they can hold it.

They do one better than that.  Not only do they hold off, four minutes later, Violet scores, and 84 minutes into the game, they know they’ve won.  Even with six minutes plus added time left in the game, Allison is confident that, with the way they’ve been playing, there’s little to no chance that Germany can pull off two goals.

When the whistle blows, it’s easily the most triumphant Allison has felt the entire World Cup so far.  Allison drags Cora into a giant hug, pressing her body against Cora’s and letting Cora melt into her.  “We did it,” she says, and she can feel Cora’s grin in her neck.  “We fucking did it, Hale.”  It’s a rush of adrenaline, a smile that Allison can’t keep off her face, and Cora clings just as tightly as to her as she is to Cora until Malia tackles them both to the ground.

They did it; they beat Germany, the team who was slated to be up there in the final two.  They made it to the finals.

Now, they just have to wait to see who they’re going up against.

* * *

 

Cora kisses Allison.

They get back to the room, and Cora kisses her, small and light and easy.  It’s been way too long since Allison’s been kissed, but it’s easy as breathing for Allison to press back into Cora’s lips.  She wants to keep going, to strip down and let Cora’s familiar hands and mouth press everywhere they want to.  It’s a rush, a reminder of just how much she’s been missing for the last four years.  It’s a reminder of what she’s been depriving herself of, the feeling of her body tingling from her head to her toes from just the most basic contact.  She still knows the curve of Cora’s mouth, the slide of her lips against Cora’s, the gentle tug of Cora’s teeth.

Allison is the one to pull away.  As good as it feels, there’s too much left unresolved, more uncertainties than not.  It’s easier to kiss Cora now than just about anyone, because Cora at least knows where Allison is at, emotionally.  Cora understands that Allison doesn’t have Intense Romantic Feelings for her, Allison could kiss Cora until her lips go puffy and raw, that she could spend hours with Cora, but that she doesn’t want to _date_  Cora.  Cora understands that Allison doesn’t want to date much of anyone.  It’s the reason they fell so easily into what they had when they were both new to professional soccer.  Neither of them had any expectations beyond Cora’s fingers on Allison’s clit, Allison’s cunt against Cora’s thighs.  The sex was easy.  Too easy.

“I don’t know that I should be doing this,” Allison admits, and Cora puts some distance between the two of them.  “Not that I don’t want to,” Allison rushes out.  “I just…”

“Kira,” Cora says knowingly.  

“I’ve been thinking about what you’ve said,” Allison says.  “About having both.  That doesn’t… it’s just supposed to be two people, right?”

“Open relationships are a thing,” Cora reminds her.  “Or polyamorous relationships.  Just because you’re aro doesn’t rule it out with us.”  Her hair drapes down from her shoulder, and Allison wants to reach out and brush it away from her face.  Allison wants more than anything to be touching her.  

“That implies a relationship in the first place.  On either end.”

“You should tell her,” Cora says.  Allison is quiet, at first, hoping that Cora will let the topic drop.  She doesn’t, though.  “You should tell her how you feel.  Before it’s too late.  You like this girl, don’t you?”

“Yeah.  I do.”

“Then tell her,” Cora says, handing Allison her phone.  

Allison doesn’t know if it’s bravery or stupidity, but she acts on Cora’s words, on the impulse, and she dials Kira’s number.  She’s had the words waiting in her head, on the tip of her tongue, for far too long, and it’s finally time to let them out.

“Hey, Kira,” Allison says, “it’s me.”  Allison has to cover the phone’s speaker with her hand to quickly shush Cora.  Allison doesn’t think she can say this more than once, and she doesn’t want to re-record the message.  She might have to leave it in multiple parts, at is it, because there’s only so much a voicemail message can hold.

“We won!  Against Germany.  And I know you’re facing England tomorrow.  I just wanted to call and wish you good luck, because I know you’re an awesome player and you’re on an awesome team.  You’ll kick ass.”

Cora looks at Allison, and Allison takes a deep breath.  “I, uh.  Don’t want to screw you up before your game tomorrow, so hang up now if you want, and don’t listen to the next message.”  She hangs up the phone and dials again, lets the phone ring three times and go to voicemail.  “But I just can’t leave things how they are.  You know I like girls and that I am attracted to them, but I didn’t tell you about Cora because I was afraid.  I was afraid of you knowing because I know that telling you, it would come out.  It would come out just how afraid I am of the people I like and the things I want.  I wanted Cora.  I still do.  But I also… I do.  With you.  Want you.  And like you.  I like you a lot.  In a sexual and a romantic way.  Being away from you so much and not talking to you as much and being out there on the field without you just reminded me how much I do like you.”

Allison hangs up and then dials one more time.

“I guess I never planned to tell this to your voicemail.  I don’t know that I even planned to tell you at all.  I was scared of a no, when you’re so important to me and to my life.  And if it is a no, we can ignore this message and pretend it never happened, and I’m okay with that.  I don’t know why I decided to do it now.  Maybe because I’m a little bit on top of the world, and it’s always easier to feel brave when you’re there.  Maybe it’s because I’m tired and I miss you and I wish you were here with me.  But I love you, and I have for a long time.  I’ll be awake for a while, if you want to call, but if not… I’ll see you in Vancouver.”

Allison hangs up the phone and sets it down on the bed.  It’s going to be a struggle not to jump every time she gets a text, hoping and praying and anxious and nervous that it’s Kira.  But she did it.  It’s out there, and now Kira can do with it whatever she wants.

It’s terrifying, but in that moment, Allison’s chest feels light, and she feels free.

* * *

 

Japan beats England, 2-1, and they’re back where they are four years ago, Japan and the U.S. matching up against each other for the Women’s World Cup final.  It feels more real this time than it did four years ago.  This time, Allison isn’t green and new, isn’t dealing with the shock of playing on the international stage.  This time, Allison is more comfortable in her own skin, more confident in her playing ability.  This time, Allison has a reason to win, more than just a reputation to uphold.

This time, Allison is playing against the girl she loves, the one she hasn’t seen in way too long.  It’s a little bit stressful, in and of itself, but Allison is kind of excited.  She and Kira have never played against each other before, outside of practice, and it’s going to be fun.  

Allison expects to be nervous going into the game, but she gets a little surprise the night she gets to Vancouver that makes everything easier.  She and Cora are just sitting around in their pajamas, talking and relaxing, when there’s a knock on the door.  Cora goes to open it, checking through the peephole first, which Allison thinks is really weird until Cora turns around, her face smug, and says, “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say thank you?” Allison says.  “What did you do?”

“I made some calls,” Cora says.  “I’m just gonna head out for a few minutes now.”

“...Okay?” Allison says.  It doesn’t click what’s happening for the longest time; Cora gathers her room key and her purse and her jacket and heads out the door, holding it open behind her, and Allison wonders if she missed the memo on some important team meeting or something.  It doesn’t click until Cora’s cleared the doorway, and in her place, there’s a short brunette with two braided pigtails and tall socks, biting her lip.

“Kira,” Allison says, getting her legs out from under the covers of her bed.  “Oh my god.  I didn’t.  Cora didn’t tell me you were coming, come on in.  Hi.”

“Hi,” Kira says softly.  She walks into the room and closes the door gently behind her.  “That’s okay.  I kinda asked her not to tell?  I asked how you were doing, and she kinda gave way more words than she needed to about it.  Which maybe made me realize that this isn’t something I can put off anymore, if even Cora can’t stay quiet about it.”

“You and Cora were talking?” Allison asks.  “You two barely even talk during the regular season.”

“I didn’t talk to her about what happened with you two, because that’s not… if you want to tell me about that sometime, you can.  That’s your life, and I think that maybe it’s something I want to hear from you.  I was a little hurt at first that you never mentioned it all, but I sat there and thought about whether it was something I would’ve told _you_ if I were in your shoes, and… I think probably not?  Not at first, at least.”

“Not at first makes it a lot harder to tell later on,” Allison says ruefully.  “Not at first just makes it scarier and scarier, until it feels so big from not talking about it that you could choke on it.”

“I have been in the closet before,” Kira says.  “It wasn’t like that, but I know, sort of.  How it eats at you, and every time you go to say something to someone for the first time, your stomach feels all sour and nervous.  It’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” Allison agrees.  “You already knew I was bi, and aromantic.  I was working up to the past stuff.  It was never that I didn’t trust you, though.  I do.  A lot.”

Kira comes over from the doorway and finally sits close to Allison.  Allison wasn’t even aware of how anxious Kira looming over her had made her, but having Kira sitting next to her on the bed, feeling like they’re on equal footing, and that she’s not talking from a position of needing forgiveness, is a relief.

“You said you liked me,” Kira blurts.  “I listened to the message after the England game.  Messages.  There were kinda… well, a lot of them.  But you said you liked me.”

“Like.  Present tense.”

“In a romantic way?” Kira asks.

“Yeah.”

Kira exhales, long and loud, and Allison isn’t sure if it’s a good reaction or not.  Not until she sees the tentative grin that breaks out on her face.  “Cora tried to tell me that just because you were into her and had sex with her didn’t mean you didn’t like me.  But that wasn’t really ever something I was really worried about?  You and Cora.  I thought… I mean, like.  I was always just worried you didn’t like me like that.  Because I’ve had a crush on you since before I even made it pro?  And then I met you, and then we were roommates, and it was _so much_ , and I was trying _so hard_ not to give myself away all the time.  I was trying to make it seem like I was the same way with everyone, because I was worried you would notice and have issues with it.”

“God,” Allison says, letting that sink in.  Her whole body feels light.  “You like me?”

“You’re amazing,” Kira says earnestly.  “Of course I like you.”

“You like me and I like you,” Allison says slowly.  “I spent all that time thinking you just wanted to be friends.”

“Whoops?” Kira says, her cheeks flushing red.  Allison very, very tentatively places a kiss on her cheek, just where the reddest patch is.  “I’m sorry things got weird in there,” Kira says.  “I got nervous and anxious and nervous and insecure and then busy, with soccer.  I had to focus on the games, and I would’ve bawled if we had fought about it.  But I like you and you like me and you wanna do your thing with Cora, which, like.  Isn’t a problem for me.  As long as we talk about it?  And if you two agree that’s something you want.”

“How are you even real?” Allison asks, slipping her hand into Kira’s.  

“You just have low standards,” Kira teases.  “After all, your last fling _was_  Cora…”

Allison giggles.  “She’s not really _always_  terrible.  And she’s really good in bed, okay.  I’d recommend trying it sometime.”

“Maybe,” Kira says.  “Maybe I can sit in if you and her do something fun together, and she’s cool with it.  It might be a fun thing for us.”

The us warms Allison, and she finally has the guts to act.  “Do you want for us to be in a relationship, then?  One that’s on the more open side of things.”

“We should probably talk about what that means later,” Kira says, “but for now?  That sounds like the best thing ever to me.”

The two of them spend a while just relaxing and catching up, snuggling as close as they possibly can to make up for how little time they’ve had together lately.  Allison just wants to hold Kira close and never let go.

It can only last so long, though.  Cora comes back, and Kira has to go rejoin her team in their hotel, and they have to say goodbye to each other.

“I’ll text,” Kira promises.  “Actually text, this time.  I’ll text you as soon as I get back to the hotel.”

“I love you,” Allison says.  Kira flushes, and for once, Allison feels like she actually appreciates a fraction of what Allison means when the words leave her lips.  

* * *

 

After all the build-up, the actual game against Japan is almost anticlimactic.

It is pretty cool seeing Kira out there on the field, sporting her Japanese uniform and her soccer socks.  Allison shoots her a smile before putting her game face on, blocking out the crowds and waiting for the whistle to blow to finally kick off the game Allison’s been waiting for for months.

The U.S. scores in the first three minutes.  Two minutes later, Heather scores again.  By the 14 minute mark, they have a third goal, and Allison wants to pinch herself.  Braeden had emphasized putting pressure on them from the start, but two minutes later, Heather gets a hat trick in her first ever World Cup, and they’re four up barely a quarter into the game.  One of their goals is literally from halfway down the field, and Allison is honestly so proud of her team she could cry.  Cora lets one goal in, and then there’s an accidental nudge into their own goal, but they score on Japan again, and they’re 5-2, only 54 minutes into the game.

So from there, they stall.  They stall their way through the rest of the game, and when the final whistle blows, it feels surreal.

This time, they did it.  This time, they came in and they beat Japan.  They’re the Women’s World Cup Champions.

Allison’s tearing up, and Malia’s eyes are red, and they all press as close to each other as they can, a giant huddle of bodies.  A team.  The team that will get a giant trophy, will get their name in the record books.  The team that little girls across the world can look up to.  

It’s hard, separating from each other when all Allison wants to do is cling.  But the game is over, and the sportsmanlike thing to do is to congratulate the other team.  They line up to shake hands, Cora leading the way.  Allison falls near the end of the line, not too far in front of Braeden and the other Important Staff.

Kira’s nearly the last one in her line, too, and Allison watches her as she walks her way through, touching hands and saying, “Good game.”  Allison smiles at Kira as they approach each other, expecting a tentative smile in return, even if Japan didn’t win.  Kira only looks determined, though, and Allison starts to get nervous.

Allison’s walking to Kira, and she hears, quietly, “Can I kiss you?”

Allison blinks and looks at Kira’s face, sees that she’s serious.  Allison knows she could say no and keep herself lowkey, that she could keep her and Kira’s relationship a secret for a little while longer and she could live up to that whole _propriety_  thing that her mom is always talking about.  She and Kira have known each other a while, but their relationship is new, and Allison knows if she said no, Kira would respect that.  The whole world’s eyes are on her and her teammates right now, after all.

But Kira is sweaty and gross and Allison loves her so much it aches, and with the TV cameras recording, she says,

“Yes.”

It’s reckless, at best.  It might have consequences.  If it were any other game, Allison would only would go for a quick kiss, because there are people watching and people waiting behind her and people waiting behind Kira.  But Allison just won the World Cup and she has a girlfriend and literally everything in the world is right in that moment.

Kira pulls Allison in closer.  She tastes like Gatorade and sweat when her mouth parts for Allison, and Allison is pretty sure her own mouth doesn’t taste too much better, but it doesn’t even matter.  It doesn’t matter that there are cameras flashing around them or that there’s a whole stadium full of fans watching them.

Kira’s hand is cupping her cheek, and it’s one of the happiest moments of Allison’s life.

“It’s my turn to kiss you where the world can see,” Kira says when she pulls away.  “And this time, we’re gonna make sure it’s something people can’t ignore.”

* * *

 

Press is a whirlwind.  They don’t let them back to the States for a few days, tying up loose ends.  When Allison does get back to the apartment, Kira’s already been there two days.  Cora and Allison use the opportunity to debrief and talk things over, and maybe have a Kira-approved celebration quickie.

When Allison catches a cab back to the apartment, she’s almost anxious.  It’ll be the first time she’s seen Kira since on the field, and she isn’t sure how things are gonna be now that the adrenaline has worn off.

But she comes in the doorway, and as soon as Allison drops her bags on the floor, Kira gives her a welcome home kiss.

Allison knows that there are things to work out, still.  The terms of their relationship, what everyone is comfortable with when it comes to Cora.  Dealing with Allison’s family will be its own mess, in and of itself.

But Kira’s lips are on Allison’s, and Kira likes her, and Allison just won the world cup.

Allison thinks that she may be like the luckiest girl in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](http://sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com).


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